


one note and the next

by humanveil



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Drug Addiction, Episode: s02e16 Chicago, Gen, Mental Instability, Season/Series 02, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “I know how you feel,” he says. “I do.”Patoshik jumps. Alex wonders if he should follow.





	one note and the next

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the final scene of S02E16: Chicago. Dialogue lifted directly from the show.
> 
> This scene has stood out to me ever since I saw it air, and this particular idea has been in my head a long while, so I’m glad to finally write it out. 
> 
> To reinforce the warnings: Suicide is the central theme of this fic. Please proceed with caution.

_A man takes his sadness down to the river,_  
_and throws it in the river,_  
_but then he’s still left with the river._  
_A man takes his sadness and throws it away,_  
_but then he’s still left with his hands._

Richard Siken; **Boot Theory.**

 

 

His hands are shaking; only slightly, the tremor one he’s familiar with, something easy to hide. It’s fading slowly, easing as the midazolam sinks its teeth into his system. He’s grateful for it, really. Out here, up high, Patoshik in front of him and the weight of what he has to do on his shoulders… Alex isn’t quite sure what he’d do without it. Isn’t quite sure he could cope.

The sky is clear. A bright, beautiful blue that spans the horizon. The sun shines down on them, subtle in its warmth, a chill still tangible. The wind glides across his frame; light, ghost-like. Alex breathes, deep and slow. His mouth is dry, his palm cold where it curls around a metal bar. He holds on tight. Has to.

“How you doing, Charles?”

A useless question. Patoshik is cowered in the corner, huddled near the edge. He’s shaking, too; jittery with adrenalin or fear or a mixture of both. Alex watches, stares, something inexplicable crawling its way up his throat.

“I don’t want to go back to prison,” is what Patoshik says, and Alex can feel a bitter, humourless smile tug at the corner of his mouth, beg to be seen. He stifles it, makes a point of gentling his voice when he speaks next.

“I don’t blame you.”

Patoshik looks up at him, a flicker of enthusiasm working its way onto his face. “I want to go to Holland,” he says, and it’s almost hopeful. Happy.

Alex’s brow furrows, only slightly, and a quick, quiet laugh passes through his his lips, the sound almost lost in the wind. “That’s not what I expected to hear,” he says, and the chuckle carries through. “But you can’t go there, son.”

Son. _Son._ Alex tries not to think of his own, of Cameron. Refuses to envision his little boy tucked up in a hospital bed while he’s here, doing this. _Here_ , and not there. Not where he should be, where he wants to be.

In front of him, Patoshik jerks his head. He doesn’t like Alex’s words, the denial of whatever happy ending he’d been picturing in his head. Alex thinks he can sympathise, thinks he knows what that’s like.

“I just…” Patoshik trails off, reaches down. Alex watches as he fumbles for something, as he unfolds a piece of artwork, starts to cry. It’s mostly quiet sounds; whimpers and whines, a slight shake to his voice. “I just want to go here.”

Patoshik points, splays the picture for Alex to see. Alex leans forward, feels a flicker of confusion at the sight. The image, it’s not much. A green field, a windmill, a small cottage seated below a blue sky. It’s not what he’d expected to see, but it is peaceful. Simple.

“See?”

Alex exhales; slow, steady. The simplicity—he thinks he wouldn’t mind it, either. Thinks an empty field and a little cottage might just be what he needs. Isolation, solitary. Anything as long as he’s away from it all. The manhunt, the Company, the job they’ve assigned him to do, the reminder of all his mistakes… He’s not quite sure how much more he can take.  

He tightens his grip on the metal handle, as if to ground himself. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “You don’t have to go to prison, but you can’t go to Holland, either.”

His voice is soft, almost tentative. Alex watches as Patoshik starts to shake his head, the word _no_ falling from his lips like a mantra. It’s erratic, unhinged. Tugs at something inside of Alex, something that makes him want to _act_.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Alex’s voice is louder than before, desperate, almost. He reaches out, hand hovering in the space between them as Patoshik quiets. “Hey, you’re in a tough spot,” he says. “You feel trapped, you got no options, and you’re caught in a situation where you have no control.”

 _A familiar_ _feeling_ , Alex thinks, and wonders if he’s only talking to Patoshik. If he’s not talking to himself, too.  

“I know how you feel,” he says. “I do.”

There is a sincerity there, in his voice. An honesty: harsh and raw and _true_. Alex can feel it, the force of it, the way it settles in his chest like a heavy weight. He looks at Patoshik, stares at his huddled form, the way he keeps looking away, looking down, and wonders how much of a difference there really is between them.

“It takes its toll on you, and all you want to do is run.” He pauses, can feel another humourless laugh press at the back of his teeth. He swallows it down, the taste bitter. “But run where?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? The thing that’s stopping him. Wherever he goes, wherever he runs, they will find him, will follow him. And if not him—

Alex pushes the thought away, ignores the memory of Pam’s tearful voice, the way she’d said the words _Cameron, hit,_ and _hospital_ in the same sentence. It’s not the time for it, not something he can deal with right now.

“I just want to go.”

Alex remains quite as he watches Patoshik stare out at the space around them, at the drop to the ground. He thinks of his orders, his _job_. Thinks of what he has to do.

It should be easy. And yet it’s not.

“There’s a way out,” he starts, and Patoshik turns to him, wide eyed and waiting for the answer.

“A way out?”

Alex nods, and when he speaks, his voice is almost inaudible. “Yeah.”

Patoshik looks back over the edge, the tears, the desperation clawing their way into his voice. “Of this maze?” he asks, and Alex barely understands the question, but he nods again, offers the same response, his voice just as soft.

“Yeah.”

Patoshik looks at him, still as if he’s waiting for something, and Alex speaks, says the first thing that comes to mind. He’s still not entirely sure who he’s talking to.

“I know you killed your parents because they hurt you,” he says. “And I know you killed that guy yesterday because he was hurting Sasha, but what you did… it was wrong. You know that.”

 _Wrong_. The word echoes in Alex’s mind, almost a taunt. He blinks away the image of Shales, of Apolskis, of every murder since. Tries to focus solely on what has to be done

Patoshik breathes deeply, his cries louder. “I just want to go,” he says again, his head shaking. He looks up to Alex, almost as if to ask for permission, and Alex swallows.

“You can.”

“I want to go _now_.” The words are louder, frantic. Patoshik stands, puts one leg up over the rails. Alex watches him breathe, watches him look down, contemplate his options.

He looks down, too. Mentally calculates how far up they are. It’s enough to kill a person, he knows, and when Patoshik looks back to him, Alex knows exactly what he’s doing. What’s going to happen.

“It’s okay,” he says, meets Patoshik’s eye for a split second, and it’s only a moment before Patoshik is climbing the rest of the way over, before Alex is watching him take the leap: arms spread like a bird’s wings, his body plummeting to the ground with an unstoppable force.  

Alex looks over the edge, watches Patoshik fall to his fate. He hears the thud of a body against concrete, steel. Has to turn away as the blood splatters, as Patoshik takes his final breath, but it’s only a moment before he turns back. Faces what he’s done.

He wonders if this is better than pulling the trigger himself, if there is a difference between ensuring a suicide and committing a murder. He wonders if it even matters, if any of it does. Wonders if there is more to be gained by following Patoshik’s steps, by taking the lunge himself.

He inhales deeply, lets it out as the commotion starts bellow, as the crowd let out their cries of horror, of anguish. He’s at the edge, now, his gaze fixed on the ground, both hands curled around the rail. It would be easy, he thinks. So blissfully easy. One jump, and then nothing. All of it—gone.

_Just like that._

His next exhale is shaky, unstable. The people below are looking up, shouting things, the words unintelligible in Alex’s ears. All he can hear is his own heartbeat, the rush of his blood. To lift a leg, to step over the rail, it’s no effort at all, is just—

The thought is cut off by the vibration of his phone, the interruption both a blessing and a curse. It diverts Alex’s attention, has him reaching to see the caller ID. It’s not anyone he cares about, so he lets its ring out, puts it back in his pocket before reaching for his pen, twisting it open.  

The pills are easy to swallow, their effect slow to sink in. He stands there, chest rising with deep breathes as he brings himself back to reality, as he finally steps back from the edge.  

“ _Mahone!”_ shouts Bellick from bellow, and Alex’s eyes flutter shut briefly: a momentary peace before he climbs back down to the chaos.  

There is, after all, still work that needs to be done.

 


End file.
